


naivete, melodrama, and the passing of coin

by SongofThunder



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mystery, No Angst, No Romance, No Smut, Travel Banter, a lot of banter, a lot of sarcasm, spoilers for therion's chapter two but that's literally it, that's kind of... their thing, traveling shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-19 11:43:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19973503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongofThunder/pseuds/SongofThunder
Summary: The bet started with Therion and Primrose. But then, of course, Tressa had to get involved, Olberic worried about their safety, and the dancer and thief would stop at nothing to make sure the other lost.The mystery started with Cyrus. Well, then Alfyn offered to help, Tressa decided she could meddle in two things at once, and then when two noble houses began to argue, the stakes raised ever higher.But as long as they work together, everything will be okay, right? Right?





	naivete, melodrama, and the passing of coin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uncles_sister_pikes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncles_sister_pikes/gifts).



> For the Octopath Traveler Exchange!
> 
> Set just after Therion’s chapter two, but before everyone else’s. Vague allusions to side quests and later chapter spoilers, but if you haven’t played that far, you won’t notice a thing, I promise.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Ah, _Therion._ It is not necessary to drink that, you understand."

“I paid for it, didn’t I, _Primrose?_ There’s a little thing I like to do called _what I want._ I don’t see how you barging in on me— _again_ — is any help.”

Primrose winked at him. “I don’t suppose you know what you’re going to do, now that you possess the ruby dragonstone? Where you plan to go, perhaps. A time of departure? A plan, even, although not having one seems to be your specialty.”

Therion glanced up at Primrose, then back down at his nearly-full drink, training his eyes on the translucent amber liquid with a faint look of disgust.

“The ruby dragonstone isn’t the only one I’ll need to get,” he finally muttered. “There are two more. It’s back to Bolderfall for me now, to return it and find out where the other two are supposed to be.” A huff. “To think, all this way and I’m already on the journey back.” The thief turned suspicious eyes in Primrose’s direction; she shook her head and gifted him a rare smirk. Even in the Noblecourt tavern’s muted light, she caught the flash of annoyance flirting across Therion’s pale and very exasperated face. “Why, did you think this would be easy?”

“Nonsense,” she chuckled, brushing off his gaze. “A task to pilfer your kind of precious stones would never have been a simple task—“

Therion made a clearly threatening noise of irritation in the back of his throat. “Tch. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“—but I was merely wondering. Do you plan to pick up more travel companions on the way?”

“Ah. Making fun of a man’s hired help. Such a low blow.”

“I don’t quite remember the passing of coin between you and them.”

“They,” he growled, “ _asked_ to come along.”

Primrose lowered her voice to a teasing lilt. “Ah, so you do. After these you have garnered, you plan to raise an army. Those we consider comrades are but a first step in our journey to befriend all of Orsterra.”

“Ugh.” Therion made a face. “We’re eight total, now that Ophilia convinced that professor man to join us. I’d say that’s enough.”

Primrose laughed. “I only find it interesting that a reclusive, leaf-driven hermit such as you—“ he glowered at that— “has found company so easily and quickly.”

“Just so you know, I hate you.” Therion scowled.

“Glad to know the feeling is mutual.”

Therion made a wide, sweeping gesture. Primrose followed his hands across the tavern. This type of alehouse would have been wonderful to ply her trade, had it possessed a stage— rich customers, a shifting atmosphere, and wandering eyes. Primrose held few memories of this area; she had spent her life in the mansion uptown, and if she remained in here, she could nearly lose herself, and forget she had been here before. Long, long ago.

Therion’s pointed movements stopped at where the remainder of said companions gathered around a table a short way from their own. They were a lively batch, especially with what looked to be Alfyn and Tressa arguing energetically over their card game, Each of their companions held a different color, a bright rainbow of hues in the dim tavern light, and that was only the beginning of what set them apart from the rest of the tavern customers.

Primrose let out a breath.

“You obviously dislike some of them,” Therion asserted. “And now you ask for more?”

She shifted position uncomfortably, and straightened, already spying the beginnings of Therion’s wry smile taking root. “I see no reason to search my own feelings on the subject. Our topic was you, after all.”

Therion made eye contact easily. “I’d been meaning to ask you, anyways. As good company as you are, you can’t stay if you can’t work well with others.”

“I thought you yourself were a lone wolf.”

“I am. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to take help when it’s offered.” He shot a glare in their party’s direction. “Or forced upon me.” His eyes trailed back to Primrose. “I’m not taking responsibility if you die.”

Primrose lifted her hand to stop him. “Dislike and confusion are entirely different feelings. I simply do not understand some of their motivations.”

“Motivations, huh?”

“Yes.” Primrose directed her gaze towards the group. Playing a second game of cards, it seemed, and from the frantic, ecstatic gestures she made, Tressa was winning. “Alfyn, for example. Do you ever wonder if he genuinely thinks he can heal the world without a penny to his name?”

Therion shrugged and set his tankard down. “Pretty much. He’s a good kid. Tries too hard, bit of a backwards idiot, but yeah.”

“Hm. Perhaps so. H’aanit, then—“

“Say no more. Don’t think I didn’t see you joking around with her yesterday.”

“I would not say _joke_ —“

“Just tell me. Which one do you not trust?”

“And how do you know I distrust one?”

Therion eyed her disdainfully. “We thieves are good at reading people. However skilled they may be at avoiding it, it’s kind of our thing. You learn.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, coming from you,” Primrose declared. “If you must know, ‘tis Professor Albright.”

He coughed. “The Professor?”

“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes. “His naïveté is… unsettling, especially considering his age and experience.” She looked pointedly at Therion. “I don’t quite understand why it is you allowed him to stay.”

Therion stared blankly at her. She regarded him carefully. “What?”

“The man froze six Flatlands Froggens at once with a snap of his fingers,” he stated, expressionless. “Six. Tier five. _At once._ ”

“Alfyn can do that.”

Therion raised an eyebrow. “Look, Alfyn’s great with ice. I can’t deny he’s got a gift for it. But _he_ can only do one at a time. The professor can do every bit of magic we can and more.”

“Dark, light, and wind,” Primrose pointed out.

“Fine. You, Tressa, and Ophilia got that covered. Come on, though. Wind is barely considered one of the elements, dark is practically illegal—”

“I prefer it to be considered an alternate method—”

“—and light is usually restricted to churchgoers. He has _everything else,_ and he’s halfway decent at it, too. I’m not throwing out an opportunity like that because you don’t like that he acts like a thirty-year-old child.”

“I merely distrust him,” she admitted. “I believe he is acting. One cannot possibly be as oblivious as he is. It defies all logic.”

“You’ve met him, right?”

Primrose sighed at the dripping sarcasm. “Of course.”

“Apparently not,” Therion drawled. “You think that’s an act? If that’s true, he’s pretty damn good at it.”

“I have seen many who could feign such a pretense.”

“ _Really.”_

“Why, yes, really. Is it truly that difficult to comprehend? Simply because _you_ are an awful actor doesn’t mean _everyone_ is.”

“I will bet you three hundred leaves it’s untrue.”

“Deal.”

“See, I knew you’d— wh?” Therion coughed out a strangled cry, pushing away his mug of ale as though Primrose had poisoned it. She watched in satisfaction as he coughed several times, then grimaced. “What.”

“I said,” she repeated, “deal. But I kindly ask you to make it five hundred. That is how certain I am of my claim.”

“You. Want to make a bet. That the professor is actually as guileless as he seems.”

“I do believe I am the older one,” she sniffed haughtily. “And I believe that means _I_ call the shots. Not you.”

“You’re _two years_ older than me. That’s not a lot.”

“How impolite, Therion! Has your mother never told you to respect your elders?”

“ _We’re the same age._ ”

“Why, thank you so much for the respect! Now, what will you accept as proof? For I intend to refute your claim in such a way you shall not be able to argue with.”

Therion took a long draft of his booze. “Make him blush.”

Primrose gaped vacantly at him. “That’s all?”

“That’s it. Before we leave this place, make him blush. If you can’t even do that, there’s no way you’re right.”

“Such a way with words.”

“I’m a gift to this world, I get it. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

Primrose did not, unfortunately, stop smirking, though she did cross her arms and narrow her eyes. “How could I not? Honestly, this is too easy.”

“Are you done yet?”

“Please.” She sent him a wink. “You love me, right?” 

“I _tolerate_ you,” Therion droned In the most monotone voice she had ever heard in her life, scowling.

She blew him a kiss, and grinned as he waved it away in annoyance. “Thought so.”

“In case you misunderstood me, I thought that was a pretty clear no.”

“Aw.” Primrose fluttered her eyelashes in her best demure pout. “You wound me, Therion.”

“There, there. If you ask nicely, Alfyn will give you a bandage. Enough with the melodrama.”

She giggled. “Hehe. _Melodrama,_ hm? That _melodrama,_ ” she continued, lowering her voice into a silky purr and leaning in, “is going to win me five hundred leaves, Therion.”

Therion picked up his mug, and with a sigh, scooted his stool farther away from her, scraping it loudly against the wooden flooring in an attempt to move to the opposite end of the table.

“ _Therion._ ”

“Stop doing that. It’s creepy.” He finished off his tankard. “Shoo. I’m done. Go do your little dance.” A shrug. “Or plan a murder. I don’t care.”

Primrose feigned annoyance with a loud, dramatic huff and turned away. “You’re on.”

* * *

To Cyrus, Noblecourt was quite familiar. How many times had he walked its streets? The journey between here and Atlasdam was quite short, actually, compared to the voyage he intended to make as soon as they left this town. He had come here often, he recalled with a smile, to research the laws and historical records of the Flatlands. Odette especially had been close with some of the nobles.

“Heya, Professor, where’s it ya wanted to go?”

Cyrus tossed a glance over his shoulder and smiled; Alfyn and Tressa followed a short ways behind him. “I am meant to purchase supplies for our return trip to Bolderfall, and subsequently Quarrycrest, but in all honesty, I simply wished to walk the town,” he confessed. “I must thank you again for choosing to accompany me.”

Alfyn waved it off and beamed. “Naw, it’s jus’ nice to have company sometimes, ya know? Ain’t that right, Tress?”

Tressa nodded excitedly. “Noblecourt is so _big_ compared to Rippletide! I thought Atlasdam was the biggest place I’d ever seen, but this… This is incredible!”

“Yep! Clearbrook itself’s a bit of a backwoods small town. It’s kinda nice to have a change of th’ ol’ scenery.”

Cyrus chuckled. “Indeed. I often forget that the two of you are from such small-scale areas.” Suddenly realizing how that would sound to them, he immediately attempted to remedy his statement. “My apologies to the both of you. I did not mean—“

“Think nothing of it, Professor!” Tressa piped up.

“You ain’t really wrong,” Alfyn added.

Cyrus let out a smile. “Then I thank you for your understanding. Now, where should we go first?”

Alfyn hummed, thinking. “Well, if ya need to get to th’ provisioner, we should—”

“Go in the evening,” Tressa interrupted. “When the shopkeepers are more tired, they’re more likely to give you a better price.” She grinned and adjusted her backpack straps. “Besides, _I_ vote we explore! There’s _gotta_ be more to see than what we’ve got here, right?”

Alfyn stopped dead, then tipped his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Gods, you’re excited! Can’t really argue with that, Tress!”

“Well then? C’mon, let’s go!” The girl bolted forward, easily passing Cyrus in a burst of speed and energy and earning a laugh from both men. “What’re we waiting for?”

“Hold on a tick, Tress! We don’t know where we’re gon’ go, huh? Ya need at least _some_ direction.” The apothecary glanced expectantly at Cyrus. “Professor, any ideas?”

“Some,” Cyrus offered. “I don’t suppose either of you have been to Noblecourt before?”

Tressa shook her head emphatically. “I helped run the shop back with Ma and Pa! In Rippletide, we get stories from travelers, but there aren’t many travelers in Rippletide to begin with. You want a better port town, you go to Grandport or Goldshore. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded sagely. “Understandable, of course, but I see how you could be disappointed by such actions. And you, Alfyn?”

Alfyn mirrored Tressa’s movements. “Stayed in Clearbrook my whole life,” he admitted. “I’m a simple country bumpkin, Professor. Can’t expect much in th’ way of stories from me.”

Cyrus tapped a finger on his chin in thought. “I may perhaps know of a place both of you will verily find interesting. Tressa, what is the utterance you have invariably been expressing?”

By now, the merchant was practically bouncing with excitement; it warmed Cyrus’ heart to see her so thrilled. “Adventure awaits!”

“And so it is, my dear girl!” Cyrus beamed, and motioned for the both of them to follow him. “Alfyn, Tressa, come now, off we go! I do believe it is only a short walk, but we mustn’t tarry!”

Finding his way to Noblecourt’s uptown district was a journey Cyrus by now knew by heart, but were he unable to find his way, he could simply look on the horizon for the taller architecture of the town. Tressa and Alfyn chattered merrily along the way, something about how pretty the buildings were, and this is marble stone mined from Quarrycrest it’s such a valuable deal Professor how rich are these people if they can have entire cities built from this, and in Clearbrook the buildings are made of plain ol’ wood did I tell you about when miss Alianor tried to have her place built out o’ somethin’ sturdier and it backfired hah it was the darndest thing I’d ever seen.

They were certainly a lively bunch, Cyrus mused. It was quite endearing, actually.

“I trust you are aware of the lovely architecture in front of us? This is the Azelhart manse.”

“Azelhart, huh?” Alfyn inquired.

“They were a powerful noble house in their day,” Cyrus outlined. “‘Tis a shame they have fallen into ruin now.”

“So this entire place— it’s just… abandoned?” Tressa looked ready to explode. “This entire thing— it looks like it’s been here for centuries!”

“Indeed. I believe around ten years ago, the head of the house was murdered, and the heir to his estate disappeared.” Cyrus smiled. “Even so, this building has stood through many of Orsterra’s major conflicts. Why, there are records of it standing during one of Hornburg’s first major wars, nearly a hundred and thirty years ago—“

“Ah, Professor, y’know, I’ve heard this one before.” Alfyn’s face was uncharacteristically pale. “Really, y’don’t need ta launch into one of yer long tales…”

“Nonsense. Knowledge knows no bounds, and oftentimes you may catch a detail or two from hearing a story twice over, rather than once, yes? Now, where was I…”

“Professor, I mean it—”

“Excuse me? I mean no trouble.”

Alfyn yelped, whipped around, and backed off from a young woman, dark-eyed and light-haired. She regarded him carefully, unblinking.

“Alf, it’s just a tap on the shoulder!” Tressa swung her head to look at her. “Hey, what’s the big idea?”

“Pardon my brashness,” the woman continued, eyes unwavering, “but I mean to ask you a query.”

Cyrus dipped his head in a nod. “Speak your question, and think nothing of it.”

“I see. Excellent,” the woman continued, “I am Athelisa. I am searching for a thief with dark hair and brown eyes. I ask, have you seen him?”

In the continuing list of descriptive factors, Cyrus’ brow furrowed. “That is quite the long description. No, I doubt I have seen such a man. Tressa, Alfyn...?”

“Nah, haven’t seen ‘im.”

Tressa shook her head vigorously. “Don’t think so! Whaddya need him for, anyways?”

Athelisa paused, then waved it off. “The man is a thug, and has stolen a shipment of precious silver my noble house meant to send to our trade allies in the east. It is of utmost importance we catch him. Will you all do me a favor and keep an eye out?”

“Of course, Lady Athelisa,” Cyrus responded. “We shall come to you if we see anyone befitting your depiction. May I ask the name of your house, so that we may grasp where to find you?”

“House Isolde,” she answered, frowning. “However, you are incorrect in assuming I hold the title of lady. My own lady of the house is still—”

“Begging your pardon,” he interrupted, “but I see no need to hide your stature from us. The gilded embroidery on your clothing would better befit one of noble birth, milady.”

He saw a flash of— what, concern? Fear? Confusion? “We are in Noblecourt,” she pointed out evenly. “Nobility is prevalent throughout the town.“

“Indeed, and yet you wear with pride earrings made from black opal,” he continued. “If my memory serves me correctly, such rare stones are restricted to the head of each noble house, rather than the lesser that serve underneath them.”

Athelisa started, fingering the hoop earring hanging on her left. “These could be fabricated,” she stressed.

“And finally, would you truly be endeavouring to disprove a claim that you are of higher stature than you are?” Cyrus finished with a smile. “I am sure many lesser nobles would jump at the chance to be considered the head of the house, if only for a short while.”

She gawked at him.

“However, I would ask an expert as to whether your earrings are true opal, or apocryphal,” he added. “Tressa?”

He waited a few seconds for Tressa to finish staring, realize she had been asked a question, and jump to action excitedly. “Oh. OH! He’s right! The flakes in your earrings are imperfect and spaced apart. If it had been faked, the stone flakes would be closer together and too even,” she announced triumphantly.

Cyrus offered her a smile. “Thank you, Tressa.”

“...Perhaps you could be of further assistance,” Athelisa said finally. “Your deductive skills are certainly impressive. And you three are?”

“Cyrus Albright, at your service,” he grinned, giving a bow.

Tressa waved. “I’m Tressa Colzione. Nice to meet you!”

“Alfyn Greengrass,” Alfyn introduced, sticking out a hand with a smile.

“A pleasure,” Athelisa declared. “I apologize for having bothered you three, and I understand if you wish to go on with your lives, but it is of paramount consequence that we find the silver taken from us, and the suspected thief is our only leads. I do not believe it coincidence that the moment I receive word he is in town, our shipment is picked apart like fish from a bone. If there is any sign of him, I kindly ask you to let me know immediately.”

“We’ll find him!” There was a determined glint in Tressa’s eye. “We can search for him,” she announced. “That dirty thief—! He won’t get away with this!” She turned pleading eyes to Cyrus. “Come on, can’t we look?”

“That ain’t half bad of an idea, Professor,” Alfyn remarked. “I expect we don’t leave Noblecourt for another day or two.”

“Perhaps so,” Cyrus murmured. “Lady Athelisa, would it be much trouble were we to seek out the bandit with you?”

Her eyes widened. “No, no trouble at all! If you like, really, there’s no need for you to-”

“Aw, shucks, don’t worry ‘bout it!” Alfyn beamed. “If we split up, we cover more ground, ya know? And ya look like you could use all the coverin’ you could get!”

“Alfyn’s right,” Tressa responded decisively. “I’m going to search the tavern. Alf, you stay ‘round here to look. And Cyrus—”

“I feel I should return to the inn to alert our party members,” Cyrus suggested. “I shall return to search afterward.”

“Oh— alright! You do that, Professor. We meet back here in an hour!” Tressa made to move, racing off with a spring in her step. “Chop chop, let’s go!” she shouted as she bolted. “Let’s give that dirty crook more than he bargained for!”

“Tress, wait—!”

Cyrus chuckled. “I suppose I should follow them,” he commented to a stunned Athelisa. “I pray you shall find the man you seek.”

“As do I,” she replied, and Cyrus grinned at her before following Alfyn and Tressa back downtown.

* * *

“Professor Albright,” Primrose called the moment the man walked in the inn door, “I see you are back.”

Primrose mentally praised herself when she saw Cyrus brighten immediately and make his way over to her. This would be an easy victory and easy winnings.

Piece of cake.

“Miss Primrose! ‘Tis wonderful to see you well!”

“As it is you,” she replied graciously. “I see you are excited.”

“Why, yes,” he responded, “Tressa, Alfyn, and I were out on a rather delightful excursion.”

“I was on my way to the tavern,” she proposed. That was a lie. She had been standing here for the better part of an hour wondering where in Orsterra the rest of their companions could be. “Would you care to join me for a drink?” she offered. “I have heard great things about Noblecourt’s alcohol.”

“Really? I have heard the opposite,” Cyrus remarked with concern. “I do believe Therion was adamant the ale here is quite… ah… disgusting, although he may have used alternate phrases in his description.”

“Therion, if I may be so bold, has little taste in alcohol," Primrose proclaimed. “His sense for brewed goods is based on how quickly it intoxicates him.”

Cyrus nodded. “I understand. However, I am afraid I cannot join you. You see, Tressa has undertaken another quest, and she has asked Alfyn and I to assist with it. I am merely here to warn our allies as to where we are going.”

“Are you sure of that?” she purred. Primrose leaned against the wall and lowered her gaze demurely, looking at Cyrus up through her long lashes. It was an old trick she learned early on in her first month at Sunshade— so far, it had not reaped any failure.

Cyrus blinked, and it was entirely, frustratingly _innocent_ when he made eye contact. “Well, yes. I spoke to her not more than fifteen minutes ago, and she was adamant I join her in her enterprise.”

...Alright, perhaps not the easiest of victories. That— that was alright. She _would_ find a way. “Tell me, is there not something… _else_ you would rather be doing tonight?” She shifted, and allowed her skirts to fall from her left leg, exposing a long strip of tanned skin. Primrose allowed a flirtatious smile to play at her lips. _Take the bait, Professor Albright._

He gave her a confused look, which was, again, the wrong emotion she was searching for. “My dear Primrose, it’s not quite evening yet. Again, mayhaps another time? Tressa is hunting for a thief, and she especially wishes to find him quickly.”

It was incredibly disheartening, she had to admit that. And even more baffling. _I have had a thousand men call me ‘_ my dear,’ she considered. _And not a single one had no ulterior motive._

“I shall see you this evening, Primrose. Now, I should likely find Alfyn, and we may search together.”

“No, wait,” she blurted out, before realizing he had already gone. She huffed in frustration. “O Sealticge, grant me strength,” she muttered. _Therion wasn’t lying._ _Although that’s an abnormality in itself._

_I’m going to have to try harder._

* * *

“Oh, I cannot believe the _nerve_ of him!”

“Ah, great. Speak of the fallen, here she comes.”

Primrose settled herself on an empty stool next to Olberic, straightening her posture and giving Therion the deadliest glare in her arsenal. He flinched, and she smirked with a shred of satisfaction.

“No sympathy, Therion. How impolite.”

Therion rolled his eyes from where he sat pushing a furious-looking Tressa away from him. “Tch. I’m _supposed_ to be all peaches and cream to you?”

Primrose examined her nails. “Well,” she fired back, “it would be nice.”

“I don’t really feel like being nice,” Therion growled. “I have been dealing with a very pissed squirrel for the past _hour._ ”

 _“Squirrel?_ ” Tressa’s face deepened an even redder color than it already was— and that was impressive, Primrose observed. She slapped at Therion, who blocked it easily. “You! How _dare_ you!”

“How long have they been going on like this?” Primrose asked Olberic, amused.

“A while. Therion, Tressa,” Olberic warned, sipping his mug and watching the two viciously cursing at each other, “stop it. Now. Split up, and do not say such things.”

“It’s okay,” Therion remarked, pushing Tressa away for a final time. “It’s consensual bullying.”

“You—! You _stole_ silver from a noble house, and you—”

“For the last time, brat, _that one wasn’t me._ You think I want attention drawn to me? Now?”

“You thieves are always _greedy,_ and you’re always—”

“Maybe we are,” Therion retorted. “But we do actually have to be _smart_ about it, unlike _some_ bratty merchants with oversized hats.”

“My hat is _not—!”_

“I have what I needed, and the _last_ thing I need is for it to be taken because I bit off more than I could chew. You think I _want_ to _get arrested,_ have the damn rock confiscated, and then be set one step _backward?_ Therion gave her an incredulous look. “I don’t _think_ so, brat. I want this damn thing _off._ ” 

Tressa deflated. “I guess that makes sense,” she mumbled.

“Good. Now, _Primrose_ , I’m going to regret asking this, but how did it go?”

Primrose looked up. “Excuse me?”

Therion’s green eyes bored into hers. “How. Did. It. Go. And don’t you go leaving out any details, either. I want to hear _exactly_ how it is you lost.”

She squinted. “Ah. There it is. I hate you with a burning passion.”

“Love you too.” Therion dragged out his words. “Spill.”

A sigh. “Awful. Every trick in the book, and not so much as a stutter.”

“Please. You can’t get mad at the fop. He hasn’t been rude to you, now, has he?”

“Of course not,” Primrose said drily. “Polite and entirely guileless, to no end.” She winked in a halfhearted attempt to make herself seem more confident. “You see, they say good thinkers take time. This first step is but a prelude to my master plan.”

“Good thinkers take time, huh?” Therion remarked. “Is that why you’re always late?”

She sighed.

“What are you two doing now?” Tressa glanced at Therion, then at Primrose. “Are you talking about Cyrus?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Therion snapped.

“Darling, go buy a personality,” Primrose hummed. “Yes, we are discussing Cyrus.”

“With what?” Tressa bristled.

“Why are you so _worried_ about him _?_ ” Therion retaliated.

“He’s my _investigative partner,_ ” Tressa declared. “Any matter that concerns him concerns me, too!”

Primrose hummed. “It shall do no harm, Therion. Tressa, I shall tell you that Therion has started a wager as to whether I, with my wit and charm, can successfully make Professor Albright blush.”

Therion snorted. “Actually, you started it.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“You’re doing _what?”_ Tressa blanched. “You’re trying to _bet_ on another person in our party? That’s _low!”_

Olberic inclined his head towards the group. “I see. Although, if you intend to embarrass Professor Albright, I hope you shall keep in mind that his profession brings him to visit here often, if only to garner the lore and history the nobility so meticulously keeps, and that he pays little attention to trivial matters of the heart.”

“Trivial matters? You wound me, Sir Olberic. Those trivial matters happen to be my specialty.”

“Even so, Therion is in the right here.”

“I mean, I guess…” Tressa admitted. “Therion’s probably going to win, Prim. Cyrus’ just as blind as a day-old fish. I never thought I’d say this, but he’s actually right…”

Therion fixed Tressa with a suspicious look. “What’s the catch?”

“But he’s still a dirty thief and he still deserves to lose, so you _have_ to win!” Tressa finished. “I’ll make _sure_ of it!”

“And, there it is,” Therion muttered. “Now, there’s only one thing to do… ignore it and hope it goes away.”

Tressa stuck her tongue out at him.

“Cheater,” he fired back.

“Ah, ah, ah, Therion,” Primrose wagged her finger at him, “cheating is most certainly allowed. Is thieving not gaming the system already?”

“So is dancing,” he bit out.

She smirked. “Thus, since the bet is made between two ‘cheaters’ already, would it not make sense to allow cheating?”

Therion looked forlornly into his tankard. “You’re still not going to win,” he said. “I have Olberic, anyways.”

“I am mainly here to ensure none of you are seriously injured,” Olberic chuckled, “but I suppose yes, I am on Therion’s side.”

“Well, then, that settles it. You want cheating, you don’t know what you’re playing with.” Therion squinted. “You’re on, Prim. You’re on.”

Primrose grinned smugly. “Good."

* * *

Tressa’s iron grip on Primrose’s arm caught her horrifically off guard, especially when the girl dragged her to one of the darker corners of the tavern. Thankfully, that was in the literal sense, and not the figurative; Primrose didn’t think the girl could stand that type of man.

“You have _got_ to win,” Tressa hissed, reiterating her earlier point.

Primrose raised her hands in surrender— or rather, the one hand she could use, since Tressa seemed to have no intention of letting go. “My dear Tressa, I promise you, I am trying.”

“What are your ideas?” she demanded. “Do you have a plan?”

“Why, so very _bold_ of you to assume I do not have a plan— no,” she confessed. “Originally, I had planned to seduce the man, but he is so very oblivious to my charms I have no idea what else to do. He has blown every plan I have come up with out of the water, and that is to say I barely had one in the first place.”

“Then you need a better scheme!” Tressa burst out. “You can _not_ let Therion win! He’s awful, and I’m never going to hear the end of it!”

“He’s constantly saving your life in battle,” she pointed out. “And you do the same for him.”

“That’s in _battle,_ Tressa whined. “It’s different when we’re _fighting!_ When we’re talking he’s absolutely— what was the word, oh yeah— insufferable!”

Primrose chuckled, even despite the severity of the situation. “Hehe. That sounds like Therion.”

“It _is_ Therion, Prim!” Tressa wailed, wringing her hands. “That’s the whole point!” Pacing from side to side (and dragging Primrose’s arm along with her), Tressa adopted a pose much like Cyrus’ own thinking pose. The comparison was laughable, and Primrose had to hold down another giggle. “Now,” Tressa contemplated aloud, “what can we do that will make him see you for what you are, lower his defenses, and make him possibly embarrassed enough to turn redder than a Riverlands tomato?”

And all at once, the answer was perfectly clear. Stars aligned, everything was lucid and crystalline, and the secrets of the universe were revealed to Primrose. All thoughts were streamline, liquid starlight, and all because of a single, perfect, solution.

“Alcohol,” Primrose said.

Tressa stopped pacing, if only for a moment. “Yeah Prim, I know, there’s booze, we’re in a tavern, though I don’t know why you’d even drink that stuff,” she rebutted absentmindedly, the crowning truth bouncing off her like glue on rubber. “What could that _be?_ ”

“No, Tressa, listen to me.” Prim took Tressa’s small, tanned hands in her own. “Alcohol. That’s the solution. We get him drunk, and then all our problems are solved.”

Tressa winced and paled, traumatic memories clearly running through her head. “Well, some are solved, and then we create more. The professor tends to talk your ear off, even without drinking, but…” She brightened. “But you’re right! Let’s do it! I’d take listening to that racket over Therion winning any day!” She looked left, then right. “I’m going with him to solve a mystery,” she whisper-yelled. “You get everything ready here first, and then I’ll tell him to go to the tavern, come back early, and we can win the bet!”

“ _I_ can win the bet.”

Tressa made a dismissive gesture. “Doesn’t matter! It’ll be a win in my book!” She glanced at the doorway. “I’ll see you, Prim!” she finished, grinning, before taking off.

Primrose watched her go with a smile.

“I suppose it wasn’t too bad of an idea to allow you in the party after all, Tressa.”

* * *

Tressa caught up with him shortly before noon. And for some reason, she could not stop giggling whenever she looked at him.

After not more than twenty minutes of searching, Alfyn caught up, too.

“Ah, Professor?” he mumbled, eyes darting from target to target as if afraid, “you may want to see this.”

“What?” Cyrus could hear clearly the confusion lacing his tone. “Alfyn, what is it?”

“It’s the jail, he answered. “They caught ‘im, but no one’s happy ‘bout it. I coulda sworn someone died in there!”

“Caught who?” Cyrus made eye contact incredulously. “The thief? That quickly?”

Alfyn contemplated, then shook his head. “I guess they’re thinkin’ the thief worked for another house in Noblecourt, ‘cause they caught someone they’re sayin’ is the thief, and then the lord of _his_ house showed up and now they’re arguing and it’s a mess, Professor, you gotta come see it.”

And while Alfyn’s description of the jail wasn’t _fully_ accurate, Cyrus found it to be extraordinarily close. When he arrived, following Alfyn and dragging Tressa behind, Athelisa and another, well-dressed, blue-eyed and dark-skinned man in colors of blue and gold were bickering back and forth, with neither of them seeming to be happy about it. Behind Athelisa stood a third man, blonde-haired, expressionless, and in her own colors of silver and green.

“Miz Isolde,” Alfyn called, “I brought back Tress and Cyrus.”

“Thank you, Mister Greengrass,” Athelisa replied curtly. By the furious look the man gave her, she had ended the exchange merely to reply; and by the grim expression on her own face, Cyrus was sure she had done the deed purposefully, and mainly to anger her conversational partner.

Said conversational partner choked, eyes widening furiously. “You have brought these— these _simpletons_ into a matter of our own? This is a task meant for _our_ class.” He pointed erratically at the group. “Not _them!_ ”

“They will provide a _fresh perspective,_ ” Athelisa insisted angrily. “If they, too, can see this crime with clarity, then surely it must be obvious.”

“You cannot bring _civilians_ into a task you have fabricated yourself, only to prove your make-believe innocence!”

“Okay!” Tressa held up her hands in surrender, eyes round. “Okay, okay, we’ll go!”

“No!” Athelisa’s eyes were wild. “You will _stay,_ and you will _help_ us _remove_ this corruption on Noblecourt!”

“I know it is… ah… a delicate situation,” Cyrus conceded to Tressa, ignoring her. “But we are in this a little too deep now.”

“No, we ain’t, Professor. We can walk out whenever we darn want to.”

“True, but do you not wish to see this through to the end? To allow justice to be served?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Alfyn admitted. “But come on. Dontcha think this’s better left for the higher-ups than us common simpletons?”

“Even so.” Cyrus clapped twice. “Both of you. Calm. Stop this madness immediately.”

Both nobles jumped, then stopped arguing.

“Both of you are better than this. Now, may I ask you both to introduce us?”

Athelisa smoothed down her hair. “Of course,” she answered, suddenly a picture-perfect example of good posture, calm waters, and lucid speech. “Cyrus Albright, Tressa Colzione, and Alfyn Greengrass,” she addressed, “may I formally introduce the thief and contemptible—”

“That is quite enough,” the man answered coldly, immediately equally as impassive. He extended a hand to shake. Tressa in the end was the one who took it, though she seemed rather unhappy about it. “I am Lord Rauf Peres, of House Peres,” the man went on. “And Athelisa Isolde here has committed a grave injustice against one of my men. I advise you do not trust her.”

“A deception, meant to throw you off,” Athelisa warned. “My attendant, Syrn—” she gestured to the man behind her— “witnessed the crime himself. The man I have had jailed was seen escaping through a hole in the roof of our storage warehouse.” If looks could have killed, Peres would have withered to death. “ _After_ purloining our silver. And he wore _your_ family crest.”

“That is an untrue claim if I ever heard one,” argued Peres. “You only wish to imprison as many of my men as possible, so as to further your stake in Noblecourt’s lesser nobility. Merely because our houses have been feuding for going on fifteen years does _not_ give you the right to commit maltreatment, malpractice, and a breach in law!” He glared. “You have been focusing on this petty battle for so long that you have neglected your own people. The rumors are pervasive.”

“Quite the opposite,” she argued, “for it is in fact your house that has been known for neglect and disarray. Why, I am sure your own reputation is tarnished beyond repair!”

“Hey!” Tressa glared. “Snap out of it! You’re not going to get anywhere by arguing! Why don’t you actually work on finding who the thief is, and getting that silver back!”

“We have,” Peres answered, aloof. “ _Lady Isolde_ refuses to admit she herself has taken it and means to pin it on us.”

“And _we_ have not found where _Lord Peres_ has hidden the silver _he_ has ordered stolen. Interrogating the thief has given us no leads.”

“Now, now. Again, Tressa is correct. Angering ourselves will get us nowhere.” An idea bloomed in his mind. “Perhaps if we all agree to meet at the crime scene, a true verdict can be reached,” Cyrus suggested.

“A re-enactment, maybe. With all of us there, ain’t it likely we’ll see something you didn’t?” Alfyn pointed out.

“I suppose,” Peres agreed.

Athelisa flicked her wrist. “You’re free to go. I will make time with the Captain of the guard for noon tomorrow. Do not be late.” She rattled off an address seemingly by heart. “Syrn, you have seen the man, correct? And he matches exactly this prisoner.”

Syrn nodded. “Yes.”

“Then it is simple. The man is guilty, and on your orders.”

“Untrue as always, _Miss_ Isolde. You see—”

Tressa shut the door behind them.

“They’re worse than the Ripley twins off harvest season,” Alfyn said glumly. “Arguing back and forth and never stopping IIs it bad that I’m kind of regretting that we said we’d help them?”

Tressa shook her head. “Me too, Alf.”

Cyrus mirrored her movements. “They are a difficult bunch, aren’t they? Still, the mystery must be solved, and the truth of all things must be revealed.”

“Me too, Alf,” Tressa repeated, ignoring him.

* * *

“Professor!” Primrose called. “Come now, join Tressa and I for a drink!”

Tressa winked at her; she waved it off. “Pray, do not be so obvious,” she chided.

“Oh, come on!”

“I admit freely, I am glad for your help, Tressa.”

The cheerful expression that returned to Tressa’s face in the span of seconds made Primrose giggle. “It’s no problem, Prim! I want to see this just as much as you do!”

“Shush,” she scolded half-heartedly. “Here he comes!”

“Tressa! Primrose! How are you this fine day?”

“Someone’s cheerful,” Primrose remarked. 

“Why, yes!” Cyrus beamed. “I have discovered the most wonderful mystery with which to hold my time. It serves as a break from my studies. Tressa, you were there, correct?”

“Yeah!” She nodded. “Hey, want to sit down? Everyone needs a break from thinking sometimes!”

“Not everyone, my dear Tressa,” Cyrus corrected. “Oftentimes, most scholars will use such ways of thinking as a distraction from their other duties. Why, I remember my teachers often preaching that—”

“Care for a drink, Professor?” Primrose interrupted quickly.

Cyrus stopped abruptly. “Well, yes,” he accepted, sitting down. Primrose and Tressa let out twin exhales. _Thank the gods._ Primrose slid him a tankard.

“We took the liberty of asking the bartender for a mug,” she simpered sweetly. “We didn’t want you to feel left out.”

Of course, they had asked the bartender for his strongest blend. 

Cyrus smiled at her and took a long sip. _Perfect._

“Hey, Professor, don’t be shy! Drink’s on me!” Tressa beamed innocently.

“Oh, don’t be so eager, Tressa,” Primrose giggled, shooting the girl a warning glance. “Now, why don’t we all sit down for a while and have Tressa tell us a tale?”

Primrose had to admit. Tressa was wonderfully adept at weaving stories from threads. Her storytelling was like a tapestry, and she made sure to leave out no details. The girl was incredibly good at wasting time.

Which was good, she thought as she lifted her mug to her lips and let her eyes drift towards the Professor. The alcohol would be kicking in soon enough, and then all they would have left to do would be embarrass him.

A flash of purple and blue out of the corner of her eye sent warning bells ringing through her head. _No, damnit,_ she cursed. _Only wait a little longer—_

“Tressa, Prim.” Therion’s telltale drawl immediately alerted Primrose to the sudden gravity of the situation. “Olberic, take the drinks. We don’t want our friends to get alcohol poisoning. Trust me, I’d know.”

A gentle yet firm hand teased the tankard out of Primrose’s hand, and she watched in dismay as Olberic pulled it out of a flustered Tressa and a confused Cyrus’ hands, as well.

Cyrus looked down at his hands, then at Therion. “Why, Therion, what’s this—”

“You want cheating, Prim? I’ll give you cheating.” Therion grinned. “Professor, why don’t you tell us _all_ about Atlasdam’s history? We all _love_ your long discussions.”

Cyrus beamed widely, and Primrose’s heart sank.

“Really? Of course, then! Well, Therion, Atlasdam was first founded with the Noblecourt treatise of 1401, a peace agreement that—”

_No!_

Therion smirked.

And then promptly left.

_Damnit._

* * *

The walk to the storage warehouse of House Isolde was long and tedious, especially since neither Tressa nor Alfyn seemed to want to do it.

“I don’t want to do this,” Tressa said, frustrated, and Cyrus shot her a look.

“I understand, Tressa, but we must.”

Peres nodded in their direction when they came in through the door. “I see you have brought your… commoner advisors,” he commented. “I, on the other hand, have brought the captain of the guard and his men. We shall see yet who is guilty here, _Miss_ Isolde!”

Dark-colored tarpaulins made of sturdy fabric covered the floor, starkly clean against the wooden tile and thick layer of debris and dust brushed over the scene. Light shafted through a hole in the ceiling, smashed through with bits of sharp wood poking out from the ruined roof.

Cyrus glanced between the captain, Athelisa, Peres, and Syrn. “Would one of you tell me what happened here?”

Athelisa gestured to Syrn, who stepped forward.

“I was sent to check on the silver,” he said impassively. “I clearly remember noticing the door being unlocked and slightly ajar. I opened the door to find this wreckage, and—” he leveled a finger accusingly at Peres— “a man climbing through the roof, wearing _his_ house colors!”

“Enough! We are here for a testimony, not a biased description!”

“Apologies.” The Isolde attendant lowered his hand. “The thief was calculated, and hit every bundle containing the silver. It was gone by the time I had arrived. I called for help, but could not reach any ears in time.”

“We found a scrap of fabric caught on the roof,” the Captain put in. “It matches his description, and also matches the Peres colors.”

“ _Lies!_ ”

Alfyn looked shocked. “Mister Peres, you gotta calm down—”

Peres straightened like a board, thrust a hand towards Syrn, and shouted. “I say, _LIES!”_

“Wait!”

“You saw _nothing!_ This entire account is fabricated for your—” Peres grabbed Athelisa’s arm— “sake!”

“Let _go_ of me!” Athelisa yanked at her arm. “ _Fabricated?_ Once again, you reiterate the same argument— I have done nothing wrong! You _dare_ question the integrity of House Isolde?”

To Cyrus’ dismay, both nobles began arguing again.

“Stop it!” Alfyn sent a panicked look in Cyrus’ direction, then Tressa’s, then even Syrn’s. “Someone stop ‘em! They’re gon’ hurt themselves!”

Cyrus took a deep breath, and willed every shred of power he could possible into his voice. “I implore you, _STOP!_ ” His shout cracked through the room like a bolt of lightning; Tressa jumped at least a foot, Peres took a step back, and even cool and collected Syrn flinched a little. Cyrus was fairly certain his fingers were crackling.

Smoothing down his hair (honestly, the damn thing was a _nightmare_ to tie back every morning, and lightning magic only seemed to make it worse), Cyrus leveled a severe, icy look at each individual in the room. Several of the guardsmen flinched. _Good._

“That’s better,” he said. “My apologies for feeling the need to vociferate, but your arguments have long since been unnecessary. I believe I know who the true culprit is.”

“I’m telling you,” Peres argued, “I haven’t done a thing to her silver-”

“Not you,” Cyrus interrupted. “There is another man who could have done such a thing.” He glanced at Syrn.

“Good sir. Your testimony.”

The attendant’s eyes flashed, but his expression remained calm. “Is there something of it?” 

“Well, yes,” Cyrus admitted. “You say that you walked into this very storage building, and then saw a man escaping through the roof, tearing off parts of his clothing with the colors of House Peres on it. You checked the tarpaulins, and found the thief had already opened it, and the silver was missing.”

“Yes.”

“So we agree that is your account of the theft.”

“Yes.” Syrn was clearly starting to grow impatient.

Cyrus glanced back at Athelisa. “Milady, is he telling the truth?”

“Yes,” Athelisa confirmed. “I did indeed send him to check upon the silver when he says he did.”

“Then it stands to reason that _Syrn_ could have stolen the silver, rather than Peres, hm?”

Athelisa narrowed her eyes. “No. Syrn has worked for my family for years. It could not have been him.”

“You are quite insistent on that, I see. And yet, there are blatantly obvious holes in your escort’s tale.”

“What?”

“For example,” he continued, “you described that you found the silver opened and the tarpaulins uncovered, and _then_ noticed the thief disappearing through the hole in the roof.”

Syrn was starting to fidget. “That is correct.”

“Look around us,” Cyrus prompted. “You see the debris from the roof scattered over of everything?” He lifted up one of the tarps. “Including, may I add, under the bundles that once contained silver.”

“Yeah, Professor, but what does that mean?” Alfyn scratched his head in confusion.

Cyrus smiled. “Forgive me, Syrn, but lies do not become us. Now, if the bandit had broken through the roof _after_ the silver was stolen, wouldn’t the wooden shards be on top of the opened bundles, rather than underneath?” He surveyed the damage. “This array in particular seems to be unsullied.” Cyrus glanced back at the captain of the guard. “I trust the crime scene has remained untouched?”

“W-well, yes,” he stammered. Cyrus allowed a smirk to rise to his face.

“Then we would have our answer. Syrn’s testimony is erroneous and fictitious.”

Athelisa had gone uncharacteristically pale. “This cannot be true,” she whispered. “You would not do such a thing.”

Tressa blinked. “You know, he’s worked with your house for how long?”

“Fifteen years— ngh! Stop this right now. I have been a trusted member of House Isolde for longer than you have been alive!”

Tressa’s eyes narrowed. “Hey! I’m _eighteen,_ thank you very much!”

“Tress is right,” Alfyn added. “Even if she didn’t say it. Fifteen years ago is about when the feud started. Maybe it’s just been him the whole time.”

Tressa snorted. “Maybe you’re getting soft. This isn’t a very good crime scene.”

“Why, you—! You little brat!” Syrn snarled, glaring with furious eyes at Tressa, then Alfyn, then Cyrus. “Fine, I did it! I did it. If I did nothing, no one could!” The full force of his fury was leveled with barely a look at Peres and Athelisa, both of whom had gone extraordinarily white. “Neither of you have done a single thing for Noblecourt. _Nothing!_ Not a single decision for the people- everything for the damn _good of your noble house_ or for your little _tea parties._ You are _unfit_ to be rulers of Noblecourt and you are _unfit_ for your titles or even the damn _clothes_ on your backs. You deserve _nothing!_ ”

“I suggest you arrest him,” Cyrus advised, and with a snap of the captain’s fingers, two of the guardsmen were rushing forward to apprehend the attendant.

“I— go.” Athelisa waved the group off without looking at them. “You— please, just go. Syrn, how _could_ you?”

“How could I? How could _you?_ ” shouted the attendant.

“Tress, Professor, she’s right. We should go,” Alfyn pushed. “Come on.”

Tressa nodded mutely. “I’m glad we helped a little, at least…?”

Cyrus ushered both of them out of the storage building.

None of them looked back.

They had solved the mystery, after all. And that was quite enough adventure and drama for a few days.

* * *

“We’re about to leave,” Therion taunted in a singsong voice, picking through his possessions. “You’re going to _lose!_ ”

Primrose gave him an unamused expression. “Stop that.”

“Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind,” Therion simpered. “Sometimes, though—” a smirk— “it’s just for fun.”

Primrose examined her nails for the eightieth time that day. “I shall find a way, Therion. Have courage, for I shall not yield.”

“That was the closest I’ve come to actually laughing in twenty-two years,” Therion quipped. “They’re supposed to return in an hour. You have until then.”

She hissed, catlike. “I will find a way,” she repeated, and stalked out of the inn.

* * *

They were only picking up the last of their supplies for their journey out of Noblecourt when Cyrus felt a shake on his arm, turned to see Tressa staring up at him with that look in her eye, and finally started paying attention to his surroundings, if only to notice Athelisa’s call for attention.

“Professor Albright. Miss Colzione. Mister Greengrass,” she said once she caught up to them. “I must thank you for your involvement in the theft.”

“Put it that way, and it sounds like we stole somethin’ too!” Alfyn laughed and grinned. “We were only doin’ what’s right, Miz Athelisa.”

Cyrus nodded. “My companion is correct. I am merely lucky to have friends with such strong moral compasses.”

“I’m glad everything worked out in the end!” Tressa piped up.

Athelisa smiled. “Even so, you have done both Peres and I a great service. Had you not come in when you did, perhaps our houses would still be bickering.” She paused, frowning, “Mayhaps Syrn would even have gotten away with it. And that is an awful thought. He has worked in my services for years- who knows how many thefts he disguised as petty inconveniences from Peres?”

“Indeed, ‘tis a thought best left unexplored,” Cyrus agreed. “If I may ask, have you made up your differences?”

“We have agreed to work together.” she confirmed. “‘Tis a difficult task to erase years upon years of bad blood, from both our ancestors and ourselves, but we try as best we can.” Athelisa hesitated. “We are getting… better.”

“We got faith in ya, ya hear?” Alfyn pressed. “Don’t give up. You got this.”

She allowed a smile. “I sincerely hope so, Mr. Greengrass. Even so, I wish to thank you three properly.” From her skirts, she withdrew three leather sacks. Handing them to the three of them, she backed up. “Inside each of these are a payment in leaves,” she clarified. “I shan’t tell you the full amount, for fear you shall not accept it.”

Tressa shook her head. “We can’t- This is really heavy! We can’t take this!”

“I insist,” Athelisa urged. “‘Tis a gift, and I shall not leave here until you accept it.”

“I- alright,” Tressa relented. “Are you sure?”

“You three solved a mystery the greatest minds at my hand could not, and ended an age-old feud,” she persisted fiercely. “If that is not deserving of reward, nothing is.”

“We thank you for your benevolence, milady,” Cyrus acknowledged courteously, glancing at Tressa.

“I wish you luck on your quest,” she responded. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off. Peres and I are negotiating new trade regulations between our houses, and I mustn’t be late.” Giving a quick bow, she backed up a few steps. “It was lovely meeting you three,” she finished before bolting.

Alfyn let out a breath. “Tress, you can talk now.”

Tressa exhaled heavily. “ThisisalotofmoneyandIcan’tbelieveshegaveusthismuchProfessorwhy’dyouletherdothat—”

“Breathe, my dear,” Cyrus consoled. “I did not wish to get into an argument on who deserved a gift given to us freely,” he explained. “We must be off soon, and I doubt Therion will be happy if we make the entire party late because they are waiting for us.”

“Oh,” Tressa said,

“But, quite simply, I accepted it because it would have been rude not to. You don’t want to be rude, do you?”

“No,” she muttered.

“C’mon, everyone,” Alfyn interjected, “Professor’s right, we gotta go. We can argue later, y’know?”

“Come now, Tressa, Alfyn is once again correct.” Alfyn beamed at that. “Off we go, then? Alfyn, could you lead the way?”

“Sure thing, Professor!” Alfyn waved them over, and they began their trek back to the tavern.

* * *

“I see. And you say all the while, it was an inside job the whole time?”

Tressa nodded ecstatically at Olberic. “Yup! But we got him in the end, and now it’s all gonna be okay!”

Primrose chuckled. “That is quite the story, Tressa.”

“Classic,” Therion groused. “The butler did it. The butler always does it.”

“Shut _up._ ” Tressa glared.

“Now, calm down, you two!” Ophilia soothed. “We have a ways to go before we reach the nearest town, and I pray that you not sour the mood before we have even taken a step of our journey.” Tressa mumbled hasty apologies and went quiet.

“If I may,” Cyrus interjected, “Syrn was not quite a butler, but more an attendant, if you may.”

Therion rolled his eyes. “See? Butler.”

Primrose would have sighed, but chose not to. That was a lot of unnecessary energy only for Therion. “I am sure it was a far more delicate situation than your rather simple analysis.”

“Yeah, it was!” Alfyn cracked a grin. “Professor, that was real smart using the tarps to figure out th’ holes in Syrn’s story. By the time ya were done, his alibi had more holes in it than a leaky watering can!”

Cyrus balked. “I cannot take all the credit, Tressa and Alfyn—”

“‘Twould seem that thine companions thinketh thee playedst a vital role in the mystery,” H’aanit pointed out.

“I don’t think—”

“Really! That was awesome! Do you do that all the time? ‘Cause it’d be really cool if you did.” 

“Everyone, I—”

“Oh, take a compliment, Professor,” Primrose declared. “Your skill in this is unparalleled. We all see it. Perhaps you should divert your energy from denying something so obvious to accepting your stake in such a tale.”

“A-ah,” Cyrus stammered. “I-I shall, Primrose. Thank you. Thank you all.”

Was that red she saw curling up the scholar’s neck? One glance at Therion and the scowl he was giving her confirmed it.

Had that been all she needed to do to win? Compliment him on his skills of deduction? Primrose smirked and gave Therion a pointed look.

“I won,” Therion stated.

“Surely you jest,” she answered incredulously. “Clearly, I won. Everyone saw that.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Therion tutted. “The bet was on the conditions that you use your _feiminine wiles_ or whatever. What _that_ was doesn’t count.”

“Bet?” Cyrus looked between them confusedly.

“Oh, come on! Prim won, right?” Tressa joined in excitedly, and Cyrus stared at her.

“Tressa? You knew about such a bargain?”

“And how would you know what counts as feminine wiles and what doesn’t?” Primrose rebutted.

“Maybe I don’t,” Therion retorted. “But either way, it wouldn’t matter. The terms were that you complete the task _before_ we leave Noblecourt, and unfortunately, like always, you’re late.”

“Honestly, Therion, you have no concept of direction. We were clearly on the Noblecourt border, just about to leave, but inside the city nonetheless.”

Olberic nodded. “Indeed, we had only just stepped on the border. But, ‘tis a dilemma— Does being on the brink of civilization and the outside world mean we were in the city, or the Flatlands?”

Cyrus spun to look at him as well. “Am I the last one to learn about this…bet?”

“Inside, clearly,” Primrose insisted loftily. “And, certainly, that means I win.”

“Come now. Listen to me for once in your life.”

“No.”

“Professor,” Ophilia offered, “if it is any comfort, H’aanit and I were unaware of any deal.”

“Sister Ophilia, Miss H’aanit, Professor Albright,” she vaguely heard Olberic warn, “I advise you to ignore them. They shall be at this for a while.” Primrose ignored him pointedly. She had won this _fair_ and _square,_ and she was _not_ about to let Therion tell her otherwise.

“How rude, Therion. I have obviously won, and you would do well to accept that. Pay up.”

“You lost.”

“I most certainly did not!” Primrose fixed him with a withering glare. “Now say it.”

“I, Therion, have won the wager—”

Primrose smacked him on the arm.

“ _Therion!”_

“What did you want me to say?” Therion coughed, and pitched his tone sugar-sweet. “‘You’re right, Prim, it’s not about the leaves, it’s about the trust we place in each other. The faith. We are there to support each other through thick and thin, through our own quests and our idiotic antics.’”

“I would have accepted a simple ‘you won,’ but I suppose—”

“You still owe me five hundred leaves, Prim.”

“You lost. And I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

**Author's Note:**

> The titles of the two Google documents I used for this fic are “legal partners but with a thief and a dancer” and “cry me a table, edgeworth." organization what organization
> 
> It was a long, long road. Fluff and humor aren’t exactly my area of specialty, as my own sense of humor is very dry and sarcastic, and neither is mystery. However, I love writing Therion, Primrose, and Cyrus, and I'm super glad I got to write this!  
> I'm sorry for the partial lateness! I'm thinking perhaps I shouldn't join any exchanges in the future. It was fun, but I shouldn't mix it up for everyone involved because I'm too scatterbrained and awful with deadlines to do it properly. And I'm sure I've been stressing out the poor mods.


End file.
